Work Text:
Tommy hated being small.
He tried to be a big man, he promised he did! Like his Daddy said, to stop being a little bitch and man up for once, whenever Tommy cried. He tried so hard to be big and grown up and not flinch back when Daddy threw his beer bottles at him.
But he could never be big enough to make him happy, and so sometimes when it got real bad, Tommy used his smallness to hide away in the tightest corner he could find, and hope Daddy wanted beer more than he wanted to hit him.
Mommy tried to help, sometimes, but he hit her even harder than he hit Tommy, and then she'd go into her bedroom and cry and take candy that made her all sleepy and weird.
Tommy was hiding right now, because he'd messed up big time today.
He liked to try on Mommy's makeup, sometimes, when she wouldn't wake up and Daddy was at work. Just to see what it looked like - he liked the big red lips he could get, because red was an awesome colour!
Daddy had come home early.
Daddy never came home early.
But he had, and now Tommy was hiding in the bottom of the closet, while Daddy was screaming about fags and whores and about how no son of his was gonna be a tranny. Mommy was trying to calm him down, begging that Tommy was just playing around, but Daddy kept insisting that if Tommy wanted to know what it was like to be gay, he'd show him, and Tommy wasn't sure what that, or any other of those words meant, but he was so, so scared, and he wanted Daddy to go watch his shows and drink his beer and let him and Mommy cuddle in bed and make plans about all the places they were going to visit one day.
And then there was the loudest scream Tommy had ever heard, followed by a sickening crack, and he knew his Mommy was dead.
She was dead, and Tommy was alone, and he was never never never gonna get her back.
Daddy tore the closet door off it's hinges, then, and grabbed Tommy roughly by the arm, spit flying in his face as he screamed. Daddy was going to kill Tommy too, now, and he'd get to sleep forever next to the floppy body of his Mommy on the floor.
Except this wasn't how it happened, was it?
Daddy had left, after he'd hit Mommy, slamming the door on the way out.
Tommy had sat with Mommy all night long, until the police turned up because they heard the screaming. And then Tommy had been taken away from his Mommy, and- and- and-
-0-0-0-0-0-
It wasn't strange for the Craft household to be woken up by screaming.
It was Phil's turn tonight, and he trudged sleepily down the corridor to Tommy's bedroom, connecting his cochlear implants as he went, before pushing the door open and making a beeline for the bed.
The nightmares had gotten less frequent in the year and a half they'd had him - going from nightly to once or twice a month - but they were never easier. Tommy wouldn't even wake up fully, sometimes, screaming until his throat was raw with his eyes open but glassy, still trapped in the nightmare world his brain had created.
Wilbur and Techno had complained, at first - or rather Wilbur had complained and Techno had made pointed comments about his beauty sleep without ever directly mentioning the disturbances - but after Phil had sat them down and told them that they had to knock it off, because Tommy was feeling guilty enough about just existing in their home, and it was unfair to make him feel that unwanted just because he was struggling.
The nightmares always got worse around this time of year, though. When the winters were long, and the anniversary of Tommy's mother's death rolled around.
"Hey buddy," Phil whispered, settling himself on the bed as Tommy sobbed quietly, his stuffed cow Henry clutched tightly, "It's okay, I'm here now baby, I'm here."
Tommy cried louder, surging forward to cling to Phil's chest. Whether or not he wanted physical contact very much depended on how he was feeling at the time, and Phil always let his boys choose whether they wanted a hug or not.
"Same nightmare?" he double-checked, expecting it to be so, but not underestimating the arrival of a new dream. There had been a period when Tommy was getting bullied at school when they'd been replaced by a new horror, but that hadn't happened in a while.
Tommy nodded against his chest, making a keening noise.
It was always like he was five again, he'd explain, no matter how prepared he was and how much he discussed them with his therapist, in his mind he was always small and always helpless.
"You able to speak, Toms?" Phil asked quietly, rubbing slow circles across the boy's back.
There was a brief pause, before Tommy shook his head, making another keening moan.
"That's alright, mate."
They sat in silence a while longer, Phil simply being there (and trying not to fall back asleep sitting upright), rubbing those comforting circles across Tommy's back the whole while
By the time the sniffles had slowed, and then stopped fully, the glowing numbers on his bedside clock had shifted to show the time being almost three in the morning.
"There we go," Phil murmured, letting Tommy pull back and wipe his eyes, "That's it, mate. Can I go get you some water?"
Tommy shook his head ferociously, grabbing onto the hem of Phil's nightshirt.
"Hey- that's okay, we can sit here a bit longer. Do you want me to talk?"
Tommy paused, and then nodded. Sometimes when he got too upset to be able to speak, he could use the sign language he'd been slowly learning on Phil's behalf, which both Kristen and the twins had learnt already to communicate with him when he didn't have his cochlear on, but especially late at night, exhausted, overwhelmed and now dehydrated, Phil didn't expect him to in the slightest.
"Alright, I can talk for a while. Do you want to hear a funny story or my plans for next week?"
Tommy held up one finger, indicating the first, and Phil obliged.
By the time the blonde was asleep again, snoring on his pillows, it was almost dawn, and Phil was just glad that it was a Saturday and he could sleep in.
-0-0-0-0-0-
Kristen always cooked pancakes on Saturday mornings.
Sundays were variable - sometimes she'd do a big fry up, or take them out to eat, or try out something with fancy names that Tommy couldn't pronounce but were usually delicious.
But Saturdays were for pancakes.
When he came down for breakfast, still in his pajamas, Techno and Wil were already sat at the table. Or rather- Wilbur was sat at the table, and Techno was sat on the floor with Steve.
Since Steve wasn't in his harness yet, Tommy went to go say hi, making a fuss of the white Labrador and kissing his nose. Techno had car- cardy- something wrong with his heart, and Steve was supposed to alert him and anyone else near if his blood pressure went too high or low. Technically Steve was on duty all the time, cause Techno could have a problem at any time, but the rules only said that Tommy wasn't allowed to distract him when he was in his harness and in working mode, so that meant he could do whatever he wanted until then.
Sometimes Tommy wanted a service dog too - Steve could even open the fridge and find stuff for Techno! But he also didn't want to have to spend ages in hospital because something went badly wrong, or be in a lot of pain like Techno said he sometimes was, so maybe he just wanted a pet. Phil and Kristen should totally let him get a pet - he was the most responsible person in existence!
"Tommy! Techno!" called Kristen from across the kitchen, "Wash your hands and come eat!"
"What about Phil?" Tommy asked, leaning over to turn the sink on, "Can I eat his pancakes?"
Kristen bapped him on the head with a wooden spoon, causing Tommy to shriek loudly, "No, you can't. I've put some of the batter aside for him later - he makes breakfast for you every day of the week, you should at least leave him some on his day off."
Tommy groaned, but didn't push further, digging into his own food with glee. Kristen was too busy during the week to cook, always running off early to her teaching job, but she was so good at it.
Of everyone who could've adopted Tommy, he was glad he got parents who knew how to cook.
Well he was glad he had parents at all, but especially the cooking bit.
Tech and Wil were so spoiled - they'd been adopted when they were seven, so probably didn't even remember life without pancakes.
Once he'd finished, and helped Kristen put the plates in the dishwasher, she stopped him. "Are you sure you don't want me or Phil to come today?" she asked gently, "I can ask Techno whether he'd mind if one of us missed his fencing today - you know he wouldn't hold it against you."
Tommy nodded, and stood tall in all his five foot glory, "It's okay, Wil can take me."
Kristen nodded too, leaning down to kiss the top of his head, "We'll see you tonight, then. I love you very, very much. Do you want pizza for dinner tonight?"
Tommy beamed, "Yes! I want a whole meat feast to myself!"
Kristen ruffled his hair, "Of course, darling. Now go on - you can't leave in your pajamas."
-0-0-0-0-0-
The graveyard was the same as it was every year, when Tommy visited.
Cold, quiet, pulled back enough from the road that no cars could be heard.
There were a few people around, but no one close to where they were going.
Wilbur hung back a little, sitting on the edge of one of the overgrown graves as Tommy approached his Mommy.
She was even smaller than he'd been, when she'd been put into the ground. There was a little box, which the social worker who'd been with Tommy had explained was her ashes, that went into the grave, and then all the earth on top.
Tommy hoped it was warm and cozy down there, and that she had lots of friends in all the graves around.
He'd almost missed this, last year. It was the first year he'd been with the Crafts, and only a few weeks after they'd asked him whether he'd like to be adopted.
He'd said yes, of course - he'd been passed around for years and years, no one wanting to deal with a child who woke up screaming most nights and who was sometimes so much of a baby he couldn't even talk. But that meant that Kristen was his new Mommy, and he didn't want to make her angry by going to see his old one.
She'd cried when he told her that, although she tried to hide it, and promised that she wouldn't ever replace his Mommy. She was just Kris, and while she was his parent, that just meant that she loved him very much, not that she wanted him to forget.
Tommy spoke to his Mommy for a while, telling her everything that had happened in the last year so she didn't worry about what he was up to. He told her about cuddling with Steve on the couch, and how Techno had taught him chess. About how Wilbur had gone to a party last month, stolen one of the bottles of whiskey they kept for guests and had gotten blackout drunk. He'd been in so much trouble when he'd gotten home, and Tommy had started crying when he smelt the alcohol on his breath because it smelled like Daddy. But Wilbur was also the one who'd decked Dream in the face when he'd been bullied - he'd gotten suspended for it, but he'd walked Tommy home from school every day for a month and he'd never been bothered by them again.
He told her about how for his birthday, everyone in the whole house had gotten him presents, and how he got to keep them all for himself, and no one had stolen them or sold them back when they were strapped of cash. He pulled out the necklace that Techno had given him to prove to her - the chain was made with real silver, and had a beautiful glass moth hanging on the end called Clementine.
He told her how he always had a full belly, and Phil never shouted or drank, and Kristen was helping him make his curly hair all nice and shiny like hers and Wilbur's was.
When he was finally finished, Tommy stood up and wandered back to where Wilbur was perched on the end of a grave, smoking one of the cigarettes that his girlfriend Sally gave him, and that Tommy had to promise not to tell Phil about. He'd asked for a puff once, and had coughed a lung up and brushed his teeth eight times when they got home to get rid of the taste.
Wilbur stubbed it out as he approached, holding out his arms for a hug. Tommy squished him hard, closing his eyes tight. They'd go home, soon, and eat pizza and ice cream and watch movies until it was dark outside, and then if Tommy shut his eyes tight, someone would carry him to bed and tuck him in.
Mommy would be happy, he thought, that he was loved.